“And when that sun goes down It gets brighter in my heart somehow I don’t know why this is But it’s what I want to know ” The Noisettes
 Have you noticed no one ever says anything good about Mondays? You could have Monday off and have a three day weekend every weekend and I bet you people would STILL hate Monday. Not sure if Monday’s get a bad rap or they really do suck across the globe, but this Monday started off the pits!
Even though I cried myself to sleep on Sunday, I had a pretty good weekend overall. I went to breakfast and I didn’t have to pay on Saturday… that’s always nice, especially when you’re on a budget. It wouldn’t be so bad if every time I pulled out my debit card I wasn’t making real life decisions about whether or not I would eat this week… I mean I can handle certain things, but there are only so many meals I can miss.
Thankfully my breakfast companion also felt the need to give me gas (pity) money. Of course I politely, defiantly refused until the joke became serious (you can’t throw money on the ground in front of the metro and then hobble away). Then I just had to take it. But now I have this mental tally in my head, trying to figure out from which upcoming paycheck I can weasel the money and pay back my debts. Truthfully, that money came in handy! I was able to be on my grown woman grind and do all of those things I’ve put off all week… CHORES! It feels good to wash 3 loads of laundry, change your bed sheets, sweep/mop the kitchen and bathroom floors, vacuum, dust, and cursedly clean the bathroom *shudders*. After I finished it all looked so beautiful, pine-sol clean! I won this battle 550 square feet! *fist shake*.
I was able to hang out with MW3 Saturday night. That was awesome. Maybe it’s the natural ebb and flow of a friendship, but the beginning seemed… forced? Like it was necessary to recapture the essence of years past within the brief moments we had together. And I think it was the secrets that led to a weighted silence… realizing we both have hidden things from each other, when we both thought we knew everything. I won’t say it was a hash out session, that entails a dramatic element that never appeared, but it did bring us back to neutral. It reminded me how much I miss her, how I value her peace in my life, how easy it is to be vulnerable and emotional in her presence. I have that safety net with such few people, and I thought for a while that our net had a few irreparable holes; in truth the trellis needs replacement from time to time. During those periods there are gaping breaches where moments in the friendship are lost or tested; but the emotional web is reinforced upon replacement in preparation for the new accidents that require its support.
We saw Horrible Bosses together, good movie, though not as funny as Bridesmaids. Funnier than the movie was the geyser of Black Cherry Sparkling Water that attacked this old clear-cousin couple in front of us (who knew there would be so much carbonation??). And they were HEATED.  Through the rush of expletives from them and the quiet snickering from me, the movie started and the theater welcomed the laughter. It’s really important to have an understanding and nonchalant movie companion when seeing a comedy with me. At best I talk through the movie (the slow parts), a happy-medium is me talking to the screen, but worst case scenario is the snort-filled laughter that echoes off the darkened walls. I far surpass the loud decimal point, and reach octaves humans wish they were incapable of hearing. But I have a good time. I’ve only been asked to leave once… which I adamantly refused with hushed promises of continual quiet. Curse you MIB2 for being so funny!
Of course with MW3 and me, there are always heart-to-hearts late at night, with in-depth analysis of past practice and present circumstances. In truth, she pointedly tells me to get my life together, and I appreciate the honesty.
Even though I went to bed about 3am, I still woke up about 8am ready to go. So I got ready, dressed to impress so to speak, and watched 4 or so episodes of Say Yes to the Dress as I waited for the clock to strike 10:20 so I could pick up MW3 for church. As much as I appreciated Zion’s sermon, the anticipation of MW3 meeting Goldfish#2 kept me panting when I should have been patient. MW3’s opinions carry great weight, and her approval means a lot. As expected from her easy-going demeanor, everything went smoothly and I think we all had a lot of fun. SN: do you ever notice that when you have a friend that you think is prettier than you, you step up your game to shine just a little brighter and hopefully be on par? I went to bed so late because I needed my hair not to look like a meshy mess of honey brown strands… I still think she is prettier, but I was able to walk with more confidence on Sunday.
Fast forward to Monday morning, I wake up to blaring alarm clocks and Drake/ Lil Wayne singing from my iPhone (a sign?). I roll over and over, the sluggard in her bed; hoping for the surprise that it’s actually night and a maiden’s blush bepaints my cheek… oh wait that’s Shakespeare not JustLissen. My present for being awake on Monday morning? The in rush of a communist attack on my body. You would think that I would get some kind of reprieve, not to have to battle this raging fascist movement twice in one month, but no, no such luck for me. Even worse, that changes the dynamic of what I can wear to work and since I had to interview for my job this morning, I was scrambling to find something that was professionally decent and distinguished while being comfortable enough to last the day. My hint? Accessories. I had a jacket, nice scarf, two pretty rings, nice earrings, and comfortable but tall shoes. That doesn’t mean my hair wanted to cooperate. No, of course not, that would be too easy. I came in looking like frazzled loaves of bread, in some places smashed in from being suffocated by the heat, other places overly rotund from too much yeast. It’s not a good look no matter how you spin it.
And though it took me an extra ½ hour to get to work because I had to return to the house 4 times for the million things I forgot upon my leisurely departure; I arrived before 9am. Yes, yes, I did need to be at work by 8am, but *Kanye shrug* it is what it is. I at least made it. And with enough time to pull out my Grown Woman Survival Kit to do repairs on my sweat stained appearance and apply much needed make up to mask the huge zonking zit on my forehead. First step, the hair: I used the two remaining bobby pins in my kit to turn the loaves into bunny ears (best I could do). Next I applied make up all over: eyes representing Erykah’s bag lady, a zit with its own zoning code, and lips with enough cracks to be mistaken for the Grand Canyon. Refreshed the deodorant, added some scent, and switched from flats to heels. I looked presentable, if not perfect.
And wouldn’t you know that 3 of my ten nails decide to chip and break this morning? That’s why I always carry nail clippers and a nail file. I wish I could’ve painted my nails, but sometimes you have to make due. And I got to work until I was called. Showed up early for the internal interview, came prepared with questions, knew what I had to bargain, and carried an air of humble importance. Only to be sitting in the conference room for 5 minutes staring at the art work I can’t interpret. Wouldn’t you know, the interview was switched from the conference room to the office? HAHAHA jokes on me I guess…
After that little confusion, the interview was underway. And I just didn’t care. I have my plan A,B,C,D (more on this later) and it is what it is. (< — new slogan)
After the interview, where I unspokenly got the approval to stay in my job, I needed chocolate. If chocolate could speak he would tell you that he can’t love you. That his purpose is to provide temporary pleasure as milky smoothness eases down your throat and plummets to your empty stomach. You can give it your heart, and it will give you diabetes. He steals the heart beating from your chest. You call the cops, but he’s the kind of thief you can’t arrest. Ok sue me, I flinted those last two lines from Lauryn Hill in the Fugees Manifesto, but it fit. Fit my idea of chocolate, my need for chocolate, the reason why I cry most night… But that will be another post for another time. It’s funny how the actual need for a chocolate bar to ease your cramps leads you on a tangent for the chocolate you can’t taste…

Last time I checked, it was still Monday. I am still at work, I still gained 5 pounds, I still have a massive to-do list that I haven’t started. Can it be Friday again?

Readers: How do you feel about Monday? Women, what’s in your GWS kit? Have you seen Horrible Bosses? Reviews? The floors open, may’ne!


Never Give You Up

“Oh, Girl I’ll never give you up, Cause ain’t no other good enough, And nothing can compare to you, I waited all my life to be with you. Oh, here I stand and when I fall, Only you expect for more, Your love is so unique, it knocks me off my feet. You love is so damn divine, you’re always on my mind.” Raphael Saadiq

It’s official I’m addicted. Not only am I a subscriber to but I also search and read all of the older posts. I’ve gone as far back as 2008… and I’m still going. I have a few of my favorites, which I save in my email in hopes of posting a reaction on my site later… ahhh inspiration.

Lately I’ve been addicted to reading posts by Slimuel L. Jackson (Slim) and Wisdom is Misery(WIM).

Their poignant simplicity of the male psyche draws various rebuttals and desires of being the exception, and realizing I’m in a group along with a bunch of other women… well for now.

I recently read: How I Knew She Was the One by TheMostInterestingManInTheWorld (aka Most).   

The lucidity of his case states 5 qualifying factors that made his wife, The One. She was able to hold his attention, accurately prioritize him and the relationship, won the approval of the grandmother, he pictured her in his future, and he prayed about the decision.  Ok, ok, ok I can dig all of those things.

But then you read a post that describes why she wasn’t the one…here’s where my heart stops and I can’t control the tears leaking from overcrowded ducts. Too many times I’ve not been the one… and to feel that weight can be unbearable.

You read, and read, and read some more; checking off an imaginary list, comparing yourself to the protagonists in the articles; deluding yourself to believe you’re not like that… only to realize you’re another statistic *sigh*.

“Jenn was an amazing woman. She just wasn’t amazing enough for me.”  Replace Jenn with L and you have the exact sentence I’ve heard 3 times, by three different men. And my response was just like Jenn’s “I thought we had something special. I really thought we clicked.”  The only difference is that I never asked why it didn’t work… until the last one. I just had to know! That’s the crime in truth, being so bloody curious to hear why “he opted out of a potential relationship with [me] in order to pursue something special with someone else”.

It’s sad to say but you can’t help wondering when he came to that conclusion, when he decided that you’re great but not good enough, to realize that pursuing anything with you is a waste of time because she isn’t the one. And even worse, how do you get so sucked in, when he’s remained neutral!

And so you respond: posting a comment even though this post is over a month old:

Slim… I agree with it all. This is a good post: hard to read, to accept, but a very good post.
I have to respond to what @WisdomIsMisery’s commented:

“I’ve said it a 1000 times and it hasn’t made me popular amongst the ladies, but I truly believe as far as men are concerned, they only have two type of women in their life:

1) The woman (as in one) they’d be willing to seriously commit to/marry.

2) All other women.”

I think the problem for women and the need for closure is not that you fall into the second category, but why is it yet again that you don’t fall into the first.

It really hits on a deep-seated insecurity of being inadequate and when you’re faced with that reflection in the mirror, sometimes it’s hard to face yourself. Especially when things are good between the two of you. Especially when he’s with you all the time, inhabits your space, asks for the musings of your mind, holds you, grabs you when you walk through the door… It’s hard to think of yourself as a friend if he treats you with deference. Especially when he does things like meets your family, or introduces his family to you, or if all his coworkers either know you or know about you… those things make it hard to distinguish the lines between friend and actual commitment. And you push back. You push, you push, and you push. And he still stays around, so you cave.

And when you, as a woman, fall into the carefully laid trap; give pass to your guards; leave the fortress unattended… well don’t be surprised when scoundrels pillage.

And though you are left with bruised emotions, your pride is distinctly damaged. You’re led on a merry chase searching for Robin Hood’s barn. During the hunt, while knee-deep in the muck of a dark forest, you wake up. You stop wanting to accept the scraps while the invitation to the feast is denied. And you have to move on. But you want to know: Why me? Why did you choose me? What makes me an easy target? And once you know, you just move the heck on.

Intrigued by WIM ability to make me feel like crap… I had to read more of his work (I guess especially since he’s E’s favorite blogger at the moment).

So I get to the heart of the matter: the “IT” factor.   

As defined by Dr. J and accepted by WIM, the “IT” factor is the power to make a man stop looking for other options. The cursor blinks several zillion times as I stop, read, reread, analyze, configure, and realize that I’ve never had that component which in essence places me on a pedestal.

As compatible as I may be with you, if there is room for you to consider other women… I’m not “it”. If you could see me tearing out my hair, clawing at my clothes, releasing the inner banshee while doing backflips, running in effort to escape the truth that I need to move on.

In its barest foundation, I never was enough for a guy to develop any significant emotional attachment in order to commit. And while I sit with baited breath nurturing feelings with the tenderness of Mother Teresa… his eyes focus on the distant horizon and the elusory pot of gold.

The truth behind this disparaging fact that I’m not the one is that I’m arrogant. Arrogant to the point that I believe what I invest, what I give, how I behave is substantial and significant enough to make guy 1, 2, 3 fall in love with me whether it’s their choosing or not. And though they tell me, “L, it’s never going to happen” I can’t help but devote myself to proving them wrong; because intrinsically I HAVE to be good enough. I devour the words special like a ravenous vulture, preying on the dead desire of G1-3 until I peck searchingly at the ground for hidden morsels.

Always in a pickle, I relish the role of hunter, seeking out the most evanescent target only the shiny gleam of my canines announces the sleek whoosh of movement. You really can’t be disappointed at the bitterness of the toughened flesh when you continue to chase the same type of venison.

What do I REALLY want?


Any regrets? Read a blog lately that challenged your ideas? Ready to move forward?

P.S. If I hear that song Motivation one more time, I may explode. I love it and hate it with the same type of passion.


“I told him I saw this coming That I’d practically packed up my things. I was glad at the time that I said I was fine but All honesty knows I wasn’t ready, no… And so here we go, bluebird. Gather your strength and rise up. Oh, let him go, bluebird. Oh, let him go, bluebird. Oh, let him go, bluebird.” Sara Bareilles

I guess on the eve-after of Independence Day when we wave our flag and celebrate our freedom, I learn how important it is to let someone go.

It’s funny how a song can immediately make you cry. The tears that well behind leaded lids, so easily they pour down and glisten when the right song comes on. The simple melody of raw energy, emote by a brilliant artist wanting to portray an image to her audience. I honestly can’t see the same picture that Sara Bareilles produced with her gentle strokes on the checkered keys, but I hope that the reader can feel the salty drops as my key strokes quicken on lettered tiles.

It’s funny how his off-hand comment can inflict the slap of a thousand anvils as he rests his lemon-coated hand on the open wound.  The slight rub and tap as he tries to soften the blow, not realizing that he worsens the sting.

How could he know that I’ve heard that same phrase many times… heard the mocking reproach as the glitter of gold dulls to a plastic shine. And then you move away… and I’m left to hold myself up, no crutches, broken feet, unable to prevent sinking to my knees. At least I was able to leave the little nest before that happened. I thankfully made it to the car and down the block before the floodgates open and every feature became red-rimmed.

I could only mention that I was now sad… I had no other words to express how that one simple comment in the joking fashion of a serious chastise, let me know my place.

He couldn’t have known the five words that caused me to accept fatal blows from other men, let them mock me in public, let them tilt a forward facing axis. But it hurt because in that moment I was trying to be open. I thought we reached a point where, even in his honesty, he would recognize the frailness of my feelings. Or understand the depth of my silence, question the closed eyelids.

But he didn’t understand, as he fiddled with my phone, quipped the mulatto heritage on the day that bemoaned equality for all (but for most later). *silence, silence, silence*. “L, are you ok? I think I touched a chord with that one”.

It’s weird how your body langauge changes without you moving a muscle. Bones atrophy, skin cools, eyes sink… and the white noise alleviated with laughter becomes the forefront of the conversation.

I can’t help but think, really? Really? Is that what you think of me? I who am nothing if not kind, understanding, loyal, and true? Oh wait, I just described a puppy… Tina Turner would be proud of how faithful a puppy I was. How I let things get stronger as the river flows, how I let my esteem for you get higher as the mountain grows. Now I’m left to wonder if I would cry if I lost you.

You created the distance, so don’t question the coldness. The icy demeanor still holds true to the barest elements of that faithful puppy, but shyly approaches the hand that feeds… for the punishment for lack of appetite is swift and cunning.

I’m sure this emotion too will pass, I’ll forget this moment ever happened. Store it away with all the other rotten memories rotting in a condemned attic.

“You have an insatiable appetite” He says with a laugh and a smile.

Insatiable and non-discerning if I continue to eat the poison you dish out.

“I’m ready to fly. You and I. Here we go”

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